


Mandate

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Parenting, Dating, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam can't win in his family no matter what. He never gets the last word, never gets to be in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mandate

Really, it's Dean's idea. Because Sam's  _tired._ He never wants to see another disapproving look from his father about it.

" _One_ date."

"Sammy," John keeps saying with surface pity and the resolve of an ancient temple only wearing down superficially, the structure of his rules still sound and sacred and untouchable. "You don't know these girls."

It doesn't seem to matter that Dean doesn't know the girls he flirts with. John gets that little, proud crinkle at the corner of his eyes at Dean's sexual prowess anyway, a reaction Sam finds weird but more acceptable than the double standard itself. Doesn't seem to matter to Dean that he's been letting complete strangers into their motel room since Sam was fourteen and they'd been sharing a room and he'd found himself stuck pretending to be asleep, or stuck hiding out in the bathroom, or stuck  _outside_ with his textbook and his homework as unreachable as an afternoon alone with a cute girl.

It doesn't seem to matter to Dean he hadn't known any of the girls he brought into their room  _before that_ , the nights when when Sam hadn't shared a room with him and Dean had taken advantage of that freedom, when Sam hadn't known what exactly it was Dean had been doing with the girls, though he'd still cared, still wanted to know. But he'd been, "Too young, Sammy," as Dean would say with a facsimile of regret.

He's still too young. Dean  _agrees_ with John. It's okay for Dean to fuck out loud, to finger just so, to make out with flushed, appreciative beings all messily over a couch in a place it wasn't even legal for them to be staying at, but it wasn't alright for Sam to make awkward small talk with a girl outside of school hours. 

Sometimes the sights and sounds so close but so far away from him make Sam so hard he wants to cry.

Even when they aren't romantic interests, something about "girl" turns John and Dean into self-proclaimed romance detectors. "You just think she's cute," they say as if they know him at all.

"No, I just think she went to Brazil this summer, and I want to hear what it was like!"

"Aww, Sammy wants to go on a date."

"No! Terri's trying to help me catch up on Algebra! Oh my god, don't do this!"

"Hm. Felicia. She was in the play, right? Wanna see what goes on behind the curtain?"

"What the fuck does that mean? I just want to hang out with her and her dad at the lake. Her  _dad_. We're going fishing," he says, and he's so frustrated he's going to cry for completely platonic reasons too.

"Dad's rules stand, Sam."

Even when Sam finally says, with too much calm for the rage inside, "Dean. I'm gonna tell him you bring girls home," and Dean's not quite sure whether John's eyes'll crinkle in fondness about that or whether his face will go all red with dangerously toxic offense, Dean still won't let him.

The inhumanity of it all overwhelms any fear of rejection over something as trivial as what he's about to do. The thing is, Sam _wants_ to date girls. But he  _also_ wants to date guys. His fantasies are tame —Ryan three towns back with the really good taste in music making him a mix tape, being on the arm of the proudest gay kid he's ever met, Lamar, kissing any number of cute guys too cute to introduce himself to at a game of Spin the Bottle Sam's not even sure people really play at the parties his dad and brother won't let him go to—but now he's going to invite one over. _  
_

And when Greg's panting in his ear, when they've got their hands on each other's shoulders, backs, asses, when they opt for a slow grind Sam wonders whether they should head back to the bedroom for, just in case, or whether they should just stay  _exactly_ where they are, on the couch Dean just had Tiffany laid out on two nights before, the door opens.

It's not Dean, though. It's not Dean he's teaching a lesson to. It's John. And John Winchester refuses to learn about anything that isn't how to track a Wendigo or Sam's mother's death.

"Maybe you  _are_ old enough," John says as he cracks open his third beer of the night. "To date. Maybe we'll just set a curfew, and you can tell me where you're going."

"What about Greg?"

"What about him?"

"Anything, Dad? Just...anything?" Sam huffs out, runs fingers through his hair, a little ruffled from Greg's touch.

"Sammy," John says, eyeing him levelly. "Means to an end. I hear ya."

"Sometimes guys like guys!" Sam says, and he's not sure why he's protesting, why he's raising his voice, but his dad just _does that_ to him.

"But not you."

"What?!"

"You're always talking about the girls in your class. Like me when I was your age," John teases. 

Doubtful, Sam thinks with disgust.

"What, so you don't think I wanted that?" Sam challenges. "You don't think I'd have taken him right over the sofa? Or...or...made him cum in my mouth?" he rushes out, embarrassed but indignant enough to try being a disgusting, overly-hormonal sleazebag.

"No," John says. 

And, somehow, Sam's angrier than he was before.

"Don't worry," John adds. "I won't tell Dean."

"I don't care if you do! Stop acting like if I hang out with a guy it can't mean anything! Stop acting like if I hang out with a girl it  _has_ to."

"I told you; you proved your point," John says. "Why don't you get ready to go to bed? I expect Dean'll be back soon."

When Dean comes to bed he smells like sex and he looks like he was manhandled by some girl who doesn't really care what music he's into, or maybe she does, but the one time was enough for her.

"You have fun with your friend?" Dean asks, taking his jacket off in the dark.

"We made out on the couch," Sam says seriously.

Dean chuckles. "Good for you, Sammy." Because he doesn't believe Sam either.


End file.
